PER ASPERA: Unprepared
by Han'Gerrel
Summary: During the events of the Reaper War, Shepard finds herself unexpectedly pregnant with a cross-species baby and becomes conflicted over what course of action to take - that which is best for the galaxy, or that which is best for her child. Some Shakarian.
1. Prologue: Disclaimer

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place during the entirety of the course of the Mass Effect 3 game, and as such several instances of dialogue and situational events in the fic are taken verbatim from the game, itself. This was done intentionally, not as an authorial cop-out or as a plagiaristic endeavour but rather as an attempt to make the contained story seem more plausibly conterminous with the actual game. However, the fic ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT follow a direct novelization of the game – some characters, missions, situations, and conflicts have been added, changed, or removed as per the author's discretion in an attempt to strengthen and/or enhance the quality and clarity of the story. Additionally, the author clearly does not own Mass Effect or any of its characters, locations, situations, etc.


	2. DAY -1

Palaven was in ruins, and Menae seemed very close to being the next to go.

The moon had been set up several years ago as a base for military operations, both as a means of convenience and as a way to draw destructive attention away from Palaven, their home, the place where they had made their livelihoods and raised their families in times of peace. But even the best-laid plans had a way of falling apart, a fact that was becoming only too apparent as the cracked, burning surface of the darkened homeworld stared down at them, watchful, from the starlit skies of Menae.

The Reapers had no taste for strategy – they were beings of destruction and destruction, alone. Still, Shepard had to admit that the turians had done a commendable job of luring the Reapers away from the home world and over to the adjacent moon, for whatever good it would do them in the long run. She figured that with the preservation of Palaven as their main concern, the turians would be only too happy to sacrifice Menae if it meant having a fighting chance to save their planet. It seemed an extremist view, at least to Shepard, but she had never quite seen eye-to-eye with the turians, no matter how hard she had tried – and it had nothing to do with being shorter than even the smallest of their species.

Clutching her gun to her chest, Shepard jogged towards the makeshift strategy shelter at the centre of the camp, slowing to an energized walk as the siding of the main pergola lowered, converting into a ramp of sorts. Coming to a stop a few yards away, she watched as the ramp came to a rest on the rocky ground and two majestic turian soldiers, war-torn but proud, descended down its face. The first was taller than the second, clearing what she guessed was a good seven feet, and wore all-black armour, illuminated by evenly spaced bars of red light. His tribal markings were white, and appeared to be caked on, as if he had slathered the war paint on to make them more visible to his soldiers from far away.

It was a good precaution, she realized, as the markings of turians were an important factor in being to tell them apart, and in a place as dark, hellish, and war-torn as Menae, being able to tell friend from foe and commander from commanded was extremely important, making every precaution taken an absolute necessity. Like her, this turian carried a Marauder assault rifle, but his had been detailed to match his armour, and looked to be of a heftier, more ammunition-heavy make than her own – more than likely a turian-modified design, she figured. Turian soldiers were larger than human soldiers, so it stood to reason that they would be able to carry larger weapons, but still, she could not help the fleeting pang of jealousy she got when she looked at the weapon.

She was quick to push the thought from her mind as she started towards the turian soldier, hearing the crunch of heavy boots against the coarse ground as Garrus and Vega followed dutifully behind her. "General Victus?" she asked, raising her voice so that he would be sure to hear her, even over the sounds of war exploding in the background.

General Victus' gait slowed at the sound of his name, until finally he came to a stop in front of Shepard, looking down at her, seeming a bit taken aback by the note of familiarity with which she had addressed him. "Yes?" he asked, trying not to betray too obviously that he could not remember ever having met the woman before, but the halted tenor of his voice gave him away.

"I'm Commander Shepard of the Normandy," Shepard introduced herself, and, almost as if by magic, Victus' confused expression cleared at the all-too-familiar name.

"Ah, Commander," he replied, a smoother, more relaxed air to his voice now as he lifted his gun over his head, tucking it securely into the magnetic locks of the holster at his back. "I know who you are. I can't wait to find out what brings you out here." Shepard paused, a bit thrown by the almost sarcastic note in the General's tone, but he only allowed her a moment of thought before tucking his hands coolly behind his back and turning on her turian companion, demanding, "Vakarian! Where did you go?"

"Heavy Reaper unit on the right flank?" Garrus replied, his tone cool and collected as ever, the same note of sarcasm in his voice as in his commanding officer's, and Shepard had to wonder for a moment if this playful cynicism was the way all turian soldiers normally spoke to one another. "I believe your exact words were, 'get that thing the hell off my men'."

"Appreciate it," Victus answered, giving an approving nod in Garrus' direction.

Shepard frowned, not used to being so easily blown off, and took a few steps forward, re-inserting herself into Victus' direct line of sight. "General, you're needed off-planet," she told him firmly, a sense of militaristic finality in her tone. "I've come to get you."

Victus gave a short, sharp exhale of breath, turning his gaze away from Shepard once more, and her fist clenched in frustration at her side, but she said nothing, knowing that her annoyance at his dismissive actions might just be self-conscious paranoia. She always did feel out-militarized, almost offput, by turians, and this _was_ their homeworld, or close to it—they ran the show here, so the way they acted was their own business. Still, she could not help but feel that he was doing it intentionally to get on her nerves. "It will take something beyond important for me to leave my men or my turian brothers and sisters in their fight," he informed her, looking back at her with an almost trivializing air, as if she were ignorant for even suggesting it.

"Fedorian was killed," Garrus chimed in then, causing the General to look up at him, startled but attentive. "You're the new Primarch."

"What…?" Victus asked.

"You're needed immediately to chair a summit and represent your people in the fight against the Reapers," Shepard added, and this time, the General seemed too surprised to remember not to look at her.

For a long moment the newly instated Primarch was silent, staring first at Shepard, then at Garrus, and then finally at the ground, overwhelmed. Then, looking up again, he started forward, moving past Shepard, forcing her to step out of his way. Striding to the edge of the rock outcropping his makeshift outpost had been fixed on, the turian seemed to drag his feet as he walked, until he finally came to a complete standstill, his sharp frame silhouetted, black, against the dying red light emanating from the ruined glow of his home planet. Shepard and Garrus glanced at one another, exchanging worried looks, before turning their attention back to the now-Primarch as he stood, seemingly frozen in place, staring up at the ruined face of his home, its dark face stained with the fiery blood of failure.

"I'm… Primarch of Palaven?" Victus finally breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Negotiating for the turian hierarchy…?"

"Yes," Shepard answered simply.

Victus hesitated again, continuing to stare in disbelief up at Palaven, looming over them in the night sky like a watchful protector, as the weight of the truth finally began to sink in on him. Then, turning back towards the two soldiers standing behind him, he stared at them for a long moment, his expression difficult to read, before finally starting the walk back towards them, his gait practiced and uneasy, but still notably proud as ever. "I've spent my whole life in the military," he said, addressing Shepard directly for the first time, a strange hint of animosity in his voice. "I'm no diplomat. I _hate_ diplomats."

At these words, Shepard frowned, noting the hardened bitterness in his tone, and for a moment she had no idea what to say in response. It was an odd realization – most people in his position would have been honoured that they had been asked to perform such an important duty. It meant that his people looked up to him to provide a vital and necessary political service for them, and trusted him to make the right choices that would benefit them, their families, and their livelihoods in the long run. Yet somehow, it almost seemed as if Victus resented her for bringing him this news at all. "What makes you think you're not qualified?" she asked, hoping that that was the issue, and not some sort of deep-set vendetta Victus had against politicians for whatever reason. It would certainly be to nobody's benefit to have a politician in the hot seat that resented his own authority.

"I'm not really a by-the-book kind of guy," Victus spat, sharp, now a much more obvious venom in his tone. "And I piss people off. My family's been military since the Unification War. War is my life – it's in my bones." He paused, his mandibles giving a few faint, thoughtful taps against his jaw, and lifted his chin, making the dim luminosity from the crude camp spotlights glint off of his white war paint, accentuating the hard outline of his face and the dark holes of his eyes. "That kind of passion is… deceptive," he finally added, looking indicatively down at Shepard as he spoke. "Can make you seem… reckless, when you're anything but."

"War is your resume," Shepard answered, ignoring the obvious dig at her own leadership methods. "In a time like this, we need leaders who have been through that hell."

"I like that," Victus replied. "You're right."

"And honestly, uniting these races may take as much strength as facing the Reapers," Shepard added, turning away from Victus and beginning to walk towards the other edge of the rock outcropping. A landscape of devastation and rubble lay spread out before her, the dust from the ruined moon still hanging thick in the air, a moment of death and destruction frozen in time in the moon's stagnant atmosphere. At these words, Victus lifted his chin, the same look of worry as before crossing his features as the thought of the Reapers returned to him, but Shepard drew his attention back with a wave of her hand, indicating outward towards the war-torn moonscape. "See this devastation, Primarch?" she asked. "Double that for Earth. I need an alliance – I _need_ the turian fleet."

Garrus turned his head, watching with rapt interest as Victus crossed to her before finally coming to stand before her, straight-backed and proud, but no longer arrogant. "Give me a moment to say goodbye to my men," he said. Then, turning away from her once more, Victus began to walk away, his gait slower than before, almost as if he were intentionally dragging his feet. Shepard could tell that this was no easy task for him, but at the same time she knew that there nothing was easy when it came to war.

Garrus watched his superior's departure as well, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the regal turian's withdrawing back, and then, as soon as the newly-instated Primarch was out of earshot, he made his way to Shepard, a frustrated frown pinching the plates of his brows inward. "Without him down here, there's a good chance we lose this moon," he said, a touch of annoyance in his voice, almost as if he were speaking to a child about a poor grade.

"Without him up there, there's a good chance we lose _everything_," Shepard shot back, stabbing a finger in Garrus' direction. She knew that this was his home world and that losing it would be as devastating to him as losing Earth would be to her, but the fact of it was, as far as she could see, she was willing to look past her own desires in order to see the bigger picture, while he was still stubbornly stuck in the small frame.

Turning away from Shepard, Garrus took a few steps towards the edge of the rock outcropping, looking up towards the huge, mechanical monstrosity that had all but swallowed up the skyline, watching with a morbid, detached fascination as it slowly crawled across the landscape of Menae, destroying everything in its path. "Look at that," he said, his tone now oddly insistent, as if questioning whether Shepard had ever actually taken the opportunity to look at one of their imposing foes before. "And they want my opinion on how to stop it? Failed C-Sec officer, vigilante – and _I'm_ their expert advisor?"

At this, Shepard fell silent, staring out at the fractured horizon, her expression hard and unmoving, as she watched the Reaper make its slow progress across the moon's surface, the familiar noises of the laser and telltale mechanical foghorn call muted in her ears, instead overpowered by the throbbing sound of her own heartbeat. Garrus turned, staring at her, his avian blue eyes searching her face, as if trying to read her expression for some sign, some indication of encouragement, or surrender, or determination, or _anything_, but he was disappointed when he found nothing there. "Think you can win this thing, Shepard?" he asked, his voice quieter now, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Shepard turned, looking up at him now, an odd, tired determination in her expression. "Yeah," she said, the word leaving her lips in a tired sigh. It felt good to be able to talk to him truthfully, to let him know what she was unable to let on to others. She was Commander Shepard, and everyone looked up to her – but with that came the constant, crushing fear of making even one wrong move and ruining everything. With Garrus, it was different; he knew her reputation, but he saw her as a person, rather than as some unattainable idol, and it felt good to be able to not have to try to be anything but human around him. "I dunno, Garrus," she told him. "But I'm sure as hell gonna give it my best shot."

"I'm damn sure nobody else can do it," Garrus was quick to reply, turning to face her again, this time with almost startling positivity. It seemed he that had just been waiting for some confirmation from Shepard that she still had her head in the game, and now that he had that, he was all in to follow her to hell and back. "For whatever it's worth, I'm with you."

At this, Shepard smiled, and, taking a step forward, she offered her hand to Garrus, who eagerly took it, giving it a hearty soldier's shake. "Welcome aboard," Shepard told him, a hint of friendly sarcasm in her tone. Then, hearing the sound of solemn, approaching footsteps, she turned, watching as the new Primarch climbed the gentle rocky slope up towards the bolted pergola, and, now with a new confidence in her mannerism, she offered him a friendly, reassuring half-smile as well.

"Ready to go, Primarch Victus?" she asked.

At the sound of his name, Victus turned, looking over towards Shepard, seeming thoroughly unamused at her newfound buoyancy, before starting to make his way towards her, finally coming to stand in front of her once more, looming over her as he looked down at her, stern. "One thing," he answered, his voice stiff. "Commander, I appreciate your need for our fleets, but I can't spare them. Not while my world is burning." He turned his head, looking out towards the burning face of Palaven, as if for extra emphasis. "But…" he added, an expectant resonance in his voice, making it clear that it had been his intention to ask this favour all along. "If the pressure could be taken off Palaven…"

Shepard frowned, the good humour from before leaving her as she took a step backward, moving out of Victus' imposing shadow. "That's a pretty tall order," she told him, flatly.

"We need the krogan," Victus insisted, taking another step forward as he fixed his hard gaze on her, a note of stern determination entering his voice, as if he refused to be deterred from his decision. "I can't see us winning this war without them. Get them to help us, and then we can help you."

At this, Shepard made a face. "The krogan…" she mused, her gaze drifting from Victus as she turned the thought over and over in her mind, trying to figure out if there were any easy way to get it done, but as always, none came to mind. There were no easy outs when it came to war.

"Looks like your summit just got a lot more interesting," Garrus quipped.

"The asari have been down this road before, Commander Shepard," Tevos said, her motherly voice taking on an almost scolding quality as she addressed the human Spectre.

Shepard had never enjoyed speaking with the asari councillor, and she had to figure that this was probably why. The woman had a custom of talking down to everyone she spoke to, almost as if she were addressing a child rather than full-grown adults who were perfectly capable of holding their own, and though the Commander knew that this mannerism was probably unintentional, it still had a bad habit of rubbing her the wrong way. "But Madame Councillor," Shepard argued, trying her hardest to get a word in edgewise despite knowing that it was likely futile, "let me—"

"I tried to smooth things over with the salarian dalatross," Tevos went on, completely brushing off anything Shepard might have had to say on the matter. "To say she is upset would be a _monumental_ understatement."

Taking a step forward towards the vidcomm display, Shepard held out an agitated hand towards the hologram of the asari councillor. It was probably for the best that they communicated this way, she figured – being on the other end of a communication device millions of miles away meant that there was no danger of her lashing out at Tevos in frustration, though she was not certain she could have controlled her temper if the councillor had addressed her in such a trivializing way in person. "Some of these issues are hundreds of years old!" she argued, making an irritated downward motion with her hand. "It's time to let go!"

"Sad to say, but any effort to ally these disparate groups seems doomed to failure," Tevos answered, calm and collected as ever, seeming utterly unmoved by the Commander's passionate show. "And I'm sure you understand that we cannot afford to waste time with the Reapers knocking at our door." She paused, as if expecting Shepard to say something else, before taking a deep breath and retrieving her hands from where they had been folded behind her back. "This must be my final word," she said, her tone hard and finalistic. "I'm sorry, but the asari will not be at your summit."

"Our alliance would be stronger with the krogan!" Shepard insisted, jerking a thumb back towards the adjoining war room, where, while there were no krogan present at that moment, she knew that there would soon be. "You need them – we _all_ do!"

"I wish you luck, Commander," Tevos replied, not even bothering to respond to Shepard's argument. "Goodbye." And with that, her signal faded out, leaving Shepard standing alone in the vidcomm room, looking like a desperate fool. Scoffing in disgust, Shepard turned, waving a dismissive hand towards the spot where Tevos' double had once stood, but, as she started to leave the vidcomm portal towards the war room, she did not get very far before she found her efforts interrupted.

"Commander," Samantha Traynor's chipper voice come on over the intercom, causing Shepard to glance upwards, as if looking for the source. "Admiral Hackett is available on vidcomm."

For a moment, Shepard paused, considering faking a busy schedule to get out of talking with the Admiral. She had had just about enough of authority figures giving her the run-around that day, between Primarch Victus' blatant disregard for her and Tevos' stubborn refusal to hear her arguments out, but she figured that, considering the situation they all found themselves in with the Reapers all but knocking at their doors, no matter how worn out she was, keeping the Admiral waiting would likely do more harm than good. Turning back towards the vidcomm platform, she pressed a finger to the flashing Alliance symbol on the display panel, and, barely a moment later, Hackett's stern, straight-backed form flickered into glowing blue life.

"Commander," he said, wasting no time in engaging her as he folded his hands sternly behind his back, drawing himself together into the picture of militaristic professionalism. "Have you retrieved the Primarch for your summit?"

"Yes, sir," Shepard answered, giving a curt, assuring nod, before making a face and adding, "but the asari are staying on the sidelines."

"They'll regret that," Hackett replied, seeming dissatisfied but not particularly surprised. "The time for unity is _now_."

"The salarians will be there, though," Shepard told him, a note of lingering hesitation in her voice, as if she were not sure admitting this would be altogether beneficial to her cause. Though intelligent, the salarians had never been the most reliable of allies, nor the most cooperative.

At this, Hackett's lined brow furrowed into a look of faint concern. "You don't sound very optimistic," he commented.

"We expect the krogan will be joining us, too," Shepard clarified, taking a step backwards. It took all her willpower not to wring her hands in his presence; the way he talked always made her nervous, like he was constantly evaluating her performance.

"I see," Hackett replied, his deep voice lingering in thought as his gaze shifted to one side, pensive. This thoughtful pause lasted only a moment, however, before his attention returned to Shepard again, all business once more. "Well then, you've got your hands full, Commander," he told her. "Was there something else you needed to discuss?"

Shepard hesitated, one hand playing anxiously with the edge of her uniform. She had a thousand questions she wanted to ask him – how her mother was doing, if he had heard from Anderson, what kind of weapon the Alliance was working on from the Prothean data they had managed to uncover. But she knew that all of those things would have to wait, as the Admiral had only limited time before he would inevitably be pulled back into the thick of the fray. It was where he thrived, and though he was always painstakingly professional during his talks with Shepard, his curt way of speaking and down-to-business attitude always betrayed a veiled annoyance at having to suffer through these instances of talk over action.

"How do you see us winning this war, Admiral?" she finally asked, figuring it was probably the most direct question she could possibly voice at this point in time.

"By making you the tip of the spear," Hackett was quick to answer, pointing a hologram finger at her.

Shepard frowned, taking a step back, and wet her lips, choosing her next words wisely. "I'm flattered," she finally said, offering up her hands, palms-up, in civil disagreement, "but the Normandy is just one ship."

"And a fast one," Hackett was quick to point out. "You can move quickly, hit a target, and leave before the enemy has time to react."

Shepard made a face, crossing her arms across her chest. "It's an advantage," she conceded. "But can it win a war?"

Hackett frowned, his wrinkled brow drawing into a hard, irritated line, his thin lips pursing. "It's the larger principle that matters," he answered, now starting to sound almost annoyed at her counterpoints, however relevant. "We'll never defeat the Reapers in a full-frontal assault, Shepard. The battle against Sovereign three years ago took everything we had, and that was just one Reaper."

"I haven't forgotten," Shepard assured him.

"So I'll find their soft spots, avoid them where they're strong, and hit them where they're not," Hackett continued, resolute. "And when I find gaps in the armour, I'll hammer them with every soldier, ship and bullet we've got."

Shepard hesitated, made suddenly uneasy by the amount of determination with which Hackett seemed to be laying out his far-reaching war plans. There was no doubt in her mind that he knew what he was doing – he was an expert when it came to strategy, and a genius in the art of war – but she knew the Reapers much better than he did, and she knew that it would take more than sheer willpower to take out these seemingly ageless destroyers of worlds. "How long can we keep that up?" she asked, hearing too late the note of hesitation in her own voice and hoping Hackett would not pick up on it.

"As long as it takes," Hackett replied, frank. He took a step back, and for the first time Shepard noticed something almost mirroring her own concern come over his gruff, grizzled face. "The reality is, Shepard, everything I'm doing is a delaying action for you," he went on, and there was something more temperate in his voice when he spoke now, something that could almost be interpreted as uncertainty, but Shepard knew him too well to suspect that he might be beginning to doubt himself now, at the eleventh hour, after he and the Alliance had put so much time and energy into perfecting their war effort. It was unlike him to let on any semblance of human fear and doubt, but at the same time she realized that, like her, that was all that Hackett really was, in the end – human. "I'm buying us time, keeping us in the game, while you gather what we need for this Prothean device. So keep at it."

"Any updates on Cerberus?" Shepard asked, quickly changing the subject. She did not want him to realize that she had caught on to his note of uncharacteristic anxiety, or to give him time to dwell on that gnawing concern. He had his pride, an infallible predominance, and she was not about to take that away from him for one fleeting moment's worth of mortal trepidation.

"They're still the wildcard here," Hackett answered, crossing his arms and falling quickly back into his usual, hard-nosed stride. "Hitting the archives on Mars suggests they're after the same thing we are – a way to defeat the Reapers."

"It didn't seem as if the Illusive Man was suggesting we appease them," Shepard observed, her brows drawing together in thought as she ground the toe of one heavy boot distractedly into the comm room floor. "Not like Saren did. You'd think we'd be on the same side now more than ever."

"Cerberus has never played by the rules as we know them," Hackett contended, unfolding his arms as his bushy grey brows drew together into a hard, lined frown. Shaking his head then, he drew his hand in a sharp downwards motion through the air, showing his disapproval of the radical pro-human terrorist group. "I don't know what their agenda is, but it has _nothing_ to do with humanity's best interests," he said.

"The Illusive Man talked about controlling the Reapers," Shepard offered, remembering the talks the self-important chain-smoker had drilled into her head again and again during the time she had worked under his less-than-willing service. "He seemed to think that's how we win this."

"He's wrong," Hackett was quick to contradict her. "Dead Reapers are how we win this."

"Doesn't mean he won't try," Shepard replied, deadpan.

"I saw your report on that Cerberus soldier you found on Mars," Hackett went on, seemingly ignoring her sardonic interjection. "If the Illusive Man is good at one thing, it's finding new ways to subvert science. It's never worked for him before, and it won't now." Falling silent, Hackett stared at Shepard for another moment, before reaching up a hand to stroke absentmindedly at his close-trimmed grey beard, thoughtful, his hard blue eyes narrowing faintly as he stared Shepard down. Shepard could almost feel herself start to sweat under his scrutiny, and it took every ounce of resolve she had not to fidget under his gaze. "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Commander?" Hackett finally asked, letting his hand fall back to his side as he broke the uncomfortable, drawn-out silence.

"Nothing more, Sir," Shepard was quick to answer, trying her hardest to stifle a breath of relief that their conversation was drawing to a close.

"All right," Hackett consented, giving another curt, militaristic nod of his head. "Keep me posted. Hackett out." And with that, he was gone, his holographic likeness flickering out of sight, leaving the vidcomm pit empty once more.

Turning away from the vidcomm pit, Shepard moved to the door of the comm room, her stride steady and even to alert the pressure sensor to open the door and let her pass. When Cerberus had had control of the SR2, the doors had run on an automatic motion-sensing technology, but when the Alliance had reclaimed the ship from Cerberus' posession, they had re-wired it with their own technology to avoid any residual Cerberus tech from corrupting their systems. Though they claimed to have put the Normandy back together with the same functionality it had possessed while under the colours of Cerberus, Shepard still found its new pressure-sensitive systems to be, unfortunately, somewhat buggy from time to time.

When she had first come back aboard after her prolonged suspension onshore, she had more than once forgotten that the ship no longer ran on the systems that Cerberus had used, and, unfortunately for her, the most common side effect of these lapses in memory was a tendency to forget to allow the pressure sensors in the floor enough time to send a signal to the doors, and running face-first into said doors as a result. She was only glad her old friend Karin Chakwas was not there to witness her shame, or she might never have been able to live the residual bruising down.

The newly-instated Primarch Victus stood before the war board, his avian yellow eyes fixed on the glowing display with a sort of detached hunger, as if he were looking through the board, rather than at it. His posture was rigid, making him seem almost statuesque as he loomed, tall and dark, over the holographic displays, watching as numbers that might as well have been meaningless flashed before his eyes. Approaching the Primarch, Shepard stood in silence for a moment, not wanting to disturb him, but it did not take long for him to turn his eyes to her anyway, his gaze hollow as he tried to hide the obvious insecurity he still felt in his newfound role behind a mask of stone.

"Commander," he said, his tone almost stiflingly civil. "Thank you for allowing me the use of your ship. And for going along with this plan." He paused a moment, thoughtful, before adding, "Garrus said he had to attend to the Normandy's weapons systems. Something about… calibrations."

Shepard smiled, surprised by how pacified even just the mention of Garrus made her feel, and gave a soft, familiar laugh at the well-worked phrase. "Sounds like Garrus," she replied. Then, the smile fading from her face, she took a long, deep breath before coming to stand beside the Primarch at the war board, letting her thin hands come to rest on the thick metal bar that ringed the lit-up table like an overlarge handrail. "I'm sorry to say the asari councillor won't be joining us," she finally said, her voice lower and more solemn. "She thinks there's too much bad blood with the krogan."

Victus took a deep breath, his black-and-yellow eyes moving back towards the war board, before finally letting his breath out in a long, inevitable sigh. "She may be right," he admitted, a faint note of near capitulation in his voice. Then, turning to look at Shepard again, he fixed her with a grave, rigid stare. "But there will be a lot more blood – _real_ blood – if we don't try," he told her, his tone hard and determined.

"Well, when you put it that way…" Shepard commented, only half joking. The Primarch's point of view on the matter seemed a bit extreme, but at the same time she had to admit that he had a point – the council races had a bad habit of exacerbating conflicts to the point of suffocation, and then trying to resolve them on the field of battle rather than with civil constitution.

Instead of being uplifted by her buoyant tone, however, Victus' mouth drew into a hard line, and he frowned, his mandibles giving one sharp, unamused tic against the taper of his chin. "The sooner we have this summit," he answered flatly, completely disregarding Shepard's attempt at humour, "the sooner we'll know."

Not knowing what else could be said to this, Shepard clenched her teeth, feeling her posture beginning to tense as a long, heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the soft, periodic beeps being emitted by the war board. The hologram image of the first, sparse shreds of progress being made on the mysterious prothean weapon spun slowly in the middle of the table, wordlessly mocking them, and Shepard could not help but feel it as a personal attack. The atmosphere in the room felt almost as if a tangible wall had been erected between herself and the Primarch, and they were arguing blindly from either side of it. She had never sought to disillusion herself about the Primarch's level of cooperation; she had known from the start that dealing with him was going to be a struggle.

However, the more he fought with her on small, trivial things like this – the more he _intentionally_ pushed her buttons for the single reason that she was someone that he perhaps felt outranked, and therefore threatened, by – the less inclined she became to want to include him when the big, galaxy-changing wartime decisions were finally starting to be made. But she knew all too well that, until the war summit actually came to pass and she got the full assistance of Victus' men, allowing him to talk down to her seemed like her only option. But that still did not mean she had to like it.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" Victus asked, cutting through the stifling silence, and the barely-masked derision in his voice was so tightly wound that Shepard could have strangled him with it. Instead, however, she merely took a step back, rocking onto the ball of her back foot in a thoughtful perch as she met his gaze, considering him.

"How are things on Palaven?" she finally inquired, hoping that by changing the subject, she might be able to make a dent in his foul manner. With any luck, being presented with something he seemed much more interested in talking about would allow Victus to unload on her about his insecurities about his home planet, thus making him, hopefully, more receptive to the struggles of others who were going through similar, if not exactly the same, hardships. It was a long shot, but one Shepard figured was just as much worth pursuing as any other. Victus, however, did not seem to be very interested in changing much of anything for her consideration; raising his chin proudly, he stared down his ridged nose at her, his hard yellow eyes half-lidded, something almost arrogant in his demeanour as he took an intentionally audible breath, before speaking.

"The casualty reports are staggering," he told her, his voice as cut-and-dry as Hackett's, almost as if he were reading off a cue card rather than addressing her personally. "The Reapers are using our own tactics against us – destroy the enemy with overwhelming force."

"I've seen the same on Earth," Shepard answered, returning the militaristic tone.

"The strategist in me admires their brutality," Victus commented offhandedly, attempting to continue in the same vein, before finally giving up and returning to the same cold, accusatory tone as before to add, "The turian in me knows I'm watching the destruction of fifteen thousand years of civilization. …My civilization."

"And how is it, being the Primarch?" Shepard asked, perhaps a bit too quickly, attempting once more to change the subject to something he would be more receptive to. However, from the look of disapproval that crossed his face at this question, she could instantly tell that, once again, she had made a mistake in her topic of choice.

"Not what I imagined," Victus admitted. Rather than being pacified by her attempts to steer the conversation to a different subject, the redirection only appeared to rile his temper even more; his yellow eyes flashed indignantly, his mandibles giving a few angry pulses against his jawline as he stared down incredulously at the woman before him. "The battle of all time is happening on Palaven, and I'm lightyears away, reading casualty reports in the millions," he spat. "If I'm going to die, I want to be with my men so there's no doubt we fought to the last soul."

Falling silent again, Shepard crossed her arms, trying to think on her feet as to how she could remedy the situation, which had, despite her best efforts, inexplicably continued to slide downhill from bad to worse. She stared at Victus, watching him as he spoke, feeling her own ire beginning to build, a burning sense of defiance forming in the pit of her stomach the more he talked about Palaven and the war he had left behind there. For one fleeting second, she felt the bleeding desire to hit him, to cut him off, to put him in his place, but instead she held her tongue, allowing him to finish, and, once he was done, she simply continued to stare at him for another long moment, allowing a wave of wire-thin silence to fall between them. Then, taking a deep breath, she held it, calculated, before finally letting it out in a long, slow, calm exhale and looking up at him once more, meeting his avian yellow eyes with her own determined green ones.

"I understand," she told him, her voice calm and sincere. She paused, allowing the levity of the statement to sink in, before letting her gaze fall from his face to the glowing war board, thoughtful and sad. "Leaving Earth to save it… it's one of the hardest things I've ever done."

For a long moment following this statement, Victus could only stare at Shepard, seeming, for an instant, to have been caught off-guard by her sudden shift in tone. Then, slowly, his stern expression began to clear, the plates of his brows sliding smoothly away from each other as the agitated grinding of his mandibles slowed to a gentle, patient hover. "I'm not surprised," he answered, markedly calmer than he had been only moments before. "Garrus speaks highly of you. You never asked to be a leader, yet your people will die if you refuse." Another long silence fell between them, but, unlike the last few, this one seemed positive – cleansing, almost – as if the silence alone had allowed a great weight to be wordlessly lifted from their shoulders.

"We find ourselves in similar circumstances," Victus finally told her, straightening his bearing and folding his hands neatly behind his back. His posture was rigid and intense, but this time, there was nothing aggressive about the way he held himself. He spoke with a tone of candour, not derision, and for the first time, he looked her straight in the eyes, addressing her as an equal. "Let's hope the spirits grant us the strength to see it through."

"I understand this is a difficult time for you, Primarch," Shepard replied, solemn but kind. "But Earth can't survive without reinforcements. Can I still count on your help?"

Victus stared at her for another stretch, his hard, yellow gaze unwavering. Then, finally, clearing his throat, he gave her a gentle, reassuring bob of his plated head, agreeing with her for the first time since their meeting on the burning plains of Menae. "If the krogan help us on Palaven," he answered, his voice quieter, almost seeming to stretch out the hypothetical to make sure Shepard understood every syllable, "then I give you my word."

Returning the nod of understanding, Shepard shifted her weight to her second foot, allowing her posture to relax. She recognized that while she may not have gotten very far with the Primarch on a sociable front, they at least appeared to be on the same page, diplomatically speaking.

"Thank you, Primarch," she said. "My thoughts are with Palaven."

Victus nodded again, as if to seal the deal, and, for the first time since leaving Menae, he seemed to be almost at ease. "And mine with Earth," he replied, quietly.


	3. DAY ZERO

The door of the main gun battery hissed as the pressure sensors responded to the weight of Shepard's footfalls, sliding open easily to allow her access. As soon as they did, the smooth, honeyed sound of a familiar voice wafted out, filling what had once been empty space surrounding her with a warm, buzzing baritone. Garrus never raised his voice when he spoke; he never had to. The soothing, authoritarian quality of his tone was so naturally rich that he could garner and hold the attention of every person in a room just by clearing his throat once. Still, though she could not yet make out what was being said or what the conversation was about, she could tell by the sheer quality of his voice that it was more than likely something having to do with the war.

Standing there in the doorway of the gun battery, listening to the voice she was so used to being carefree and sarcastic speaking in hushed tones about strategies of war, it suddenly dawned on Shepard, almost as if for the first time, just how many of the people she cared about were actually involved in this atrocity, and for a moment she could not help but feel the inexplicable urge to wrap herself up in Garrus' voice like a comforting blanket and forget about the world for a while. But, like everyone else in this war, she had a role to play, and her role was too important to abandon for the sake of impulsive sentimentality. Inching closer towards where the turian stood, she watched from a short distance as he worked, conversing with an unknown person over a headset so as to leave his hands free to tinker with the Normandy's gun controls.

"Two of our dreadnaughts have been lost in a matter of hours," Garrus' contact reported over the headset, loud enough for Shepard to hear the words and easily identify the voice as belonging to Primarch Victus. She supposed Garrus had turned the volume of the headset way up so he would be able to hear it over the symphony of noises emanating from the ordnance, though they did not seem to be that loud to her – however, she supposed that being in closer proximity to them, as Garrus was, probably made a significant difference in the noise level, so she said nothing, continuing to stand to the side in silence, allowing the two to continue their conversation uninterrupted.

"I know, Primarch," Garrus answered, giving a soft sigh of acknowledgement as he turned, glancing over towards the screen built into the side of the artillery unit. Catching a glimpse of something dark out of the corner of his eye, he looked up, spotting Shepard, and for a short moment he hesitated, seeming a bit surprised, before returning to his work, unruffled. "I'm seeing the same numbers, myself," he reported, still talking to the Primarch over the headset. "They don't look good."

"We have to turn this around, and fast," Victus told him, sounding grim, and Shepard could almost envision the look on his painted face as he said it. The Primarch was no easy turian to work with, but if anyone could navigate the ins and outs of his caustic personality to figure out how best to talk to him, she figured it would probably be Garrus.

"Well, you can trust Shepard, Sir," Garrus assured him, looking up at Shepard again, this time offering her a private, reassuring little smile. "If anybody can get the krogan to cooperate, it's her. She's an old friend of Urdnot Wrex."

"Let's just hope friendship still counts for something in this war," Victus muttered, to which Garrus gave a little frown, but, undeterred, he quickly recovered with a reassuring bob of his head, wordlessly letting Shepard know that, even if the Primarch had his own pessimistic doubts, Garrus' faith was still in her entirely.

"I'm sure it will, Sir," he told the Primarch. Then, lifting the headset up off his crest, he set it aside, turning to face Shepard, who by now had made her way down the stairs and into the lower belly of the battery, feeling the gratework floor vibrating a little under her feet from the lively thrum of the machines.

"Garrus!" she greeted him, smiling amicably as she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her warm, oversized jacket. "Didn't waste any time getting to work, I see."

"After what I've been through lately, calibrating a giant gun is a vacation," Garrus answered truthfully, turning his attention back to the machinery in front of him and picking up his tool once more. "Gives me something to focus on."

"We're gonna need you for more than your aim," Shepard told him, a more serious note entering her voice, though this one was more of worry than sheer obligation. She almost felt guilty asking for his help on the Normandy – after all he had done for her, and all the two of them had been through together, she almost felt as if the work were beneath him. Still, he did it well, and he claimed to enjoy what he was doing when he worked on the guns, so she figured that as long as he kept telling her he was happy, she would keep on blindly believing him.

"Oh, I'm ready for it," Garrus replied, stepping away from the panel and cocking one hip as he allowed Shepard his entire, undivided focus. "But I'm pretty sure we'll need giant guns – and lots of them."

"Can't argue with that," Shepard answered, shrugging her shoulders.

Garrus smirked in agreement, though the gesture seeming almost uncomfortable. Then, shifting his weight uneasily between his heavy feet, he took a few uncertain steps forward, towards Shepard, closing the distance between them, his mandibles giving a few, uneasy jumps as he did so, conveying troubled thoughts that he could not quite figure out how to put into words. "Yeah," he finally said, dragging out the sound awkwardly as he tried to think of how to say what he wanted to come after it. "So… is this the part where we… shake hands? I wasn't sure about the protocol on reunions, or if you even still felt the same way about me." He paused a moment, thoughtful, and then lifted a hand to his face, his clawed fingers trailing across the roadmap of twisted, healed burns that charted the side of his face, and it was all Shepard could do not to reach out a hand and touch them with him.

"The scars are starting to fade," he commented, before lowering his voice seductively to add, "I remember they drove you wild." Shepard gave a soft, girlish breath of a laugh, saying nothing to exacerbate his silly behaviour, but at the same time making sure she did not do anything to put him off. She liked the attention he was giving her, liked his silly flirtations – and with everything that was on her mind at the moment, all the war, the politics, and the hardship, she felt a little bit of silly romantic distraction was well-deserved. "But I can go out and get all-new ones, if it will help," he added, pulling her back to reality.

"I haven't forgotten our time together," she assured him, offering him a sincere, almost coquettish smile.

Seeing this gesture of approval, Garrus tilted his head faintly, taking another eager step forward towards Shepard, and then another. "Well," he said, sounding significantly more self-assured, taking one last step before coming to stand barely inches away from her, standing tall over her. "I've been doing some more research on human customs. I didn't want to presume—" He did not even get to the end of his sentence before Shepard shifted herself upward onto her toes, pressing a soft, tender kiss to his jagged mouth and effectively silencing his rambling speech. Settling back onto the balls of her feet, she smiled up at him, trying to hide the look of amusement at the expression on his face. Had it been possible for a turian to blush, she knew he would have been blushing hard then, and she supposed he only had his genealogy to thank for sparing him the extra, adorable embarrassment.

"That's the protocol on reunions," she told him, her voice low and intimate. Then, reaching up, she stroked the side of his face, the pad of her thumb sliding along the solid line of his mandible, her fingertips caressing his strong cheekbone, and Garrus gave a light, faintly embarrassed breath of a laugh, bowing his head ever so slightly into her touch.

"The vids mentioned it might go something like that," he admitted, his tone cool and forcibly dismissive as ever, but she could still hear the relieved awkwardness in his layered voice. "I had hoped it would – I mean, I didn't… know…"

Reaching forward, Shepard took his hands in her own, silencing him again as she looked down at their entwined forms, noting the scuffs and scarring that had worn down the exterior of his form-fitting gauntlets. "I can't promise how things will work out," she admitted, frank, though her voice still held the same low, tender tone of before. "Not with this war." Then, looking up into his face, she met his bright, avian blue gaze with her own sharp green one, and offered him a hopeful smile, countering the solemnness of before. "I missed you, Garrus," she told him. "I thought about you a lot."

"Glad to know my romantic, er, skills made an impression," Garrus answered, playing thoughtfully with her hands in his and purposefully ignoring the comment about their relationship not surviving the war. "Because it's going to take more than Reapers to come between this cross-species liaison."

Shepard gave another soft, fond chuckle, before finally retrieving her hands from his grasp. Garrus seemed disappointed for a moment, but said nothing; instead letting his hands fall respectfully back to his sides as she spoke. "Speaking of which, you said you're the expert advisor on Reapers now?" Shepard asked, arching one dark, sculpted brow, and at this, Garrus gave an uncomfortable grunt, taking a step back from Shepard as the romantic moment came to an abrupt halt.

"It's not as impressive as it sounds," he answered, his tone oddly dismissive, as if he was not quite comfortable talking about the whole arrangement just yet. "I ruffled some feathers, so they gave me a token title along with a token task force so I'd shut up." Turning away from her, he made his way towards a panel of lit-up switches on the wall of the battery, turning his full attention to them as if in an effort to distract Shepard from the conversation at hand, but Shepard merely smiled, amused by his somewhat endearing discomfort.

"How'd you manage that?" she asked, propping a hand on her hip with a playful smirk.

"Just followed your example, Shepard," Garrus answered honestly, shrugging one broad, armoured shoulder. "Yell loud enough and eventually somebody will come over to see what all the fuss is about." He paused, thoughtful, before giving a faint, dismissive toss of his fringed head. "Not that they'll do anything about it," he added, something bitter, almost ugly in his tone. Shepard knew all too well where that bitterness was coming from; she had felt it often enough, herself, but she also knew that if they were going to win this war, they would have to put their feelings of bitterness behind them for the good of the galaxy. A government slow to respond was better than one that never responded at all.

"Until hell shows up at their door," she added half-jokingly, giving a quick, indicative toss of her head. "Then they put you in charge."

Garrus laughed, the sound a hard, monosyllabic scoff, before giving an agreeing bob of his head and turning away from the panel of switches, starting back towards the main gunnery computer. "Not like the old days, is it?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder towards Shepard as he walked. "Rogue Spectre and C-Sec agent running and gunning outside the lines, making it up as we went along… we're actually respectable now." Rounding on the main computer, he tapped it a few times with one clawed finger, and instantly the translucent orange screen sprang to life, coded waves scrolling down the display faster than Shepard could make sense of them, but she supposed that was why Garrus was in charge of these functions, and not her.

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, moving up beside him at the controls and looking over the lines of text and symbols, only half of which she could identify. "I get the feeling that respect comes with a lot of sleepless nights." She fell silent, thoughtfully watching the lines of text roll down the computer screen until they finally slowed to their normal crawl. Then, looking up from the console, she turned, allowing her gaze to rest on the turian beside her once more. "I can't even count how many lives are counting on us, Garrus," she told him, her voice soft but grave.

Garrus was silent for a long moment, considering this, his mandibles moving in a slow, thoughtful tattoo against his pointed chin. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned, meeting Shepard's eyes and locking his gaze with hers, holding her stare. "Well," he said. "When things are looking grim – and I'm pretty sure they will – just remember…" He leaned in to her ear then, rustling her hair with his soft breath, and she could barely keep a fond hint of a smile from reaching her rouge lips. "We're in this together," he finished. He paused another moment, allowing the sentiment to sink in, before leaning back again, the corners of his jagged mouth suddenly sliding upwards into a puckish grin.

"And if it ends with both of us dying in a giant explosion taking out a Reaper," he added, turning away from her towards the computer console again, "remember I took the killshot." Then, leaning down to the touchscreen again, he focused in on it, thinking their conversation to be over. Under normal circumstances, Shepard knew that this would have constituted a cue for her to leave – whenever Garrus got caught up in his calibrations, trying to pull him away from them was usually a futile endeavour – but right now, she found herself not wanting to leave his company. She knew that standing there staring at him was not going to help him or anyone else get anything done, but she found that right now, she could not care less. She just wanted to look at him for a while, to admire the way the light from the consoles glinted off his crest, or the way the cast shadows of the battery played in his scars like some sort of sensual forecourt.

He really was a handsome turian, a fact she knew drove her mother crazy. It was not that Hannah had anything against turians, or any sort of aliens for that matter – it was that she could not quite wrap her head around the fact that her daughter found them to be actually more attractive than humans. Feeling Shepard's eyes on him then, Garrus lifted his head, glancing over towards her, and the plates of his brow drew together ever so slightly, his cat-like mouth forming a faint 'o' of surprise as he looked at her, countering her stare.

"Something else you want to talk about?" he asked, curious.

Finding herself pulled back into the moment, Shepard shook her head, realizing that she had all but zoned out before, lost in her thoughts. "No," she answered quickly. "That's all, for now." She paused, thoughtful, before taking a step towards him and adding with an almost playful sensuality, "At least, about the war. We've still got some… personal catching up to do."

"Well, you know where to find me," Garrus told her. "And this time – I got hold of the good stuff." Bending down at his console, he reached underneath it, dragging out a small box, from which he pulled a flashy blue bottle of liquor. Then, standing back to his full height, he let the bottle rest between his hands, showing it off as he took a mirroring step forward to meet her. "There are a few perks to being an expert Reaper advisor," he grinned.

Shepard smirked, reaching forward and hooking her first two fingers into the edge of his armour before pulling him forward, urging his face down to her level. "Deal," she murmured in his hear, before giving him a teasing kiss on the cheek. Then, letting her wandering fingers trail downward, she took his hand in hers, pulling him away from the gunnery controls, slowly at first, tempting him, and then more fervently as they neared the battery doors. Garrus could barely keep a knowing grin from overtaking his features as he allowed her to lead him onward, all but forgetting about his calibrations as the promise of personal catch-up time with the Commander drew ever more imminent.

Shepard's cabin was much more bare than either of them remembered it being, but neither spared much thought to fret about it as the doors slid closed behind them with a knowing hiss. Shepard could hardly keep her mouth away from his as their fingers scrambled to blindly remove the armour that was now the only thing still standing between them. Her fingers deftly unlatched the clasp of his breast-plate, and with his help the hefty piece of armour was soon off his body and on the floor of her quarters. The bowl-like neckpiece was next to go, lifted up over his head and laid aside with the breastplate, and after that, the rest of the armour was quick to follow, until his heavy blue panoply lay in a discarded pile at the foot of her bed. Her casualwear soon joined it, their clothing a jumbled mess of boots, greaves and gauntlets that was quickly forgotten as she pressed him down onto the thin, military-issue bunk mattress, one strong leg sliding over his shape as she straddled him, a soft gasp of a giggle leaving her throat as she felt his hands on her hips, the rough, calloused texture of his fingers so alien, yet so exciting.

The soft scrape of his claws against her tender flesh was electrifying as she stretched her long, slender form over his, running her hands over every inch of his body and revelling in the sensation as he did the same to her, his hands gliding up the length of her torso, tickling her ribcage as he worked to unclasp her bra before peeling it away from her pale, perky breasts. It never failed to amaze her how adept he was at that, despite having only three fingers to work with, where most men with five fingers to aid them often found the task unfathomably daunting. She gave a soft, approving moan of pleasure as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic waist of her panties, his claws leaving faint, raised lines of pink against her freckled skin as the dragged down her slender thighs, and then another, louder moan as he tilted his head forward, his tapered tongue playing eagerly down the slit of her genitals.

Shepard slid forward, pushing herself along the rutted ridges of his chest-plates until her knees pressed down against the bedding at either side of his bony collar, her legs spread wide to accommodate the extra breadth of the appendage. Of reach and flexibility, the latter was her stronger suit—and with his long limps and agile tongue, she was only too happy to let him take the title of the first. His hands slid over the flesh of her strong, smooth thighs as he worked into the split of her legs, and Shepard reached down a hand, her fingers splaying as they came to rest on top of his head, moving with him as he worked, feeling the gentle rocking motion as he pressed against her, his serrated teeth scraped tenderly across the tender pink flesh, leaving a pricking, tingling sensation as they went.

"Yes…" she moaned, feeling her back arch with pleasure at the sensation. "Yes…" To some, the feeling of a turian mouth in their nether regions, of his teeth pricking at the sensitive skin, of his mandibles quivering and jerking against the edges of her pudenda, might have been offputting, but to Shepard, it was downright euphoric, and every time felt like a delicacy – no vibrator in existence could replicate the feeling of _so much_ going on down there. Once finished, Garrus lifted one of her legs up over his head, allowing both to slide smoothly off to one side as he pulled himself up the bed towards her, his mouth and sharp chin glittering with her residue. Shepard lifted a hand, pressing it to his wet mouth, before sliding it from there down the length of his throat, an eager shudder running down her spine at the softness of his skin.

The sleek reptilian texture was like the smoothness of a snake's scales after a fresh shed, the flesh of his neck thin and folded into itself like the gullet of a monitor lizard, and the threaded membranes pulsed excitedly under her touch. Leaving the sensation of his throat momentarily, her fingertips trailed over the ridge of his collar, making their way up the slope of the hard, bony orifice as it curved around his neck, coming to a rise at his back, until she found her hands behind his head. The fingers of one hand played against the tough, spiny tips of his crest, while the palm of the other caressed the warm, jagged line of overlapping scales that trailed down his neck before disappearing into the hollow of his collar.

Turian physiology was not at all the same as human's, a fact that never ceased to fascinate Shepard. On other species, she had found there to be an almost disappointing measure of similarity between their physiology and her own, making it less than adventurous to explore one another's bodies. Turian physiology, on the other hand, she found utterly fascinating. Garrus' hips sloped out smoothly from his sides like saddle horns, perfect for gripping onto, the rough, plated surface of his groin and hips taut against the hard pelvic bone, and where she would usually find an exposed set of genitals on a human companion, he had a layered slit embedded into his sleek, bony pelvic region.

Though at first this intimate feature had looked startlingly similar to a human vulva, upon closer inspection, she had come to realize that it actually looked more like the folds of a set of human vocal cords, and much like the flaps of human vocal cords, the halves of the slit would open to admit the actual appendage to expose itself when the turian became aroused. This unusual evolutionary facet was a necessary precaution, she supposed, as the exterior of the turian member seemed to have only a very thin protective layer covering the muscles and veins, and so was more than likely extremely sensitive. Still, that never seemed to have stopped Garrus from being just as enthusiastic and effective a lover as any other, a fact that never ceased to surprise and thrill her.

Now, the prepuce of his groin folded back as the internalized member pushed through, like the stamen of a flower, urged to attention with a sudden flow of blood, the blue veins pulsing against the tender, exposed flesh of the appendage. Tucking her hair out of the way behind one ear, Shepard leaned down, allowing the tip of her tongue to skate gently over the fragile membrane, feeling the veins under the thin skin give an excited throb at her touch. Then, gripping the sturdy frame of his hips, she closed her soft lips around the flesh of his adjunct, allowing her eyes to close as she began to gently slide her mouth up and down the length of the tapered, veiny shaft, feeling it pulse with excitement every time she moved.

Garrus moaned in delighted euphoria as she worked, his clawed hands twisting into the sheets of her bed, threatening to rip them. When her teeth gently scraped against the thin membrane of his filament, he gave a pained gasp, and one hand instantly moved to her head, his claws curling into her choppy red hair, moving with her as she moved. Realizing her error, Shepard moved more carefully against the delicate flesh, and she could feel his strong, plated thighs shudder with frenzy as she worked, assuring her that she was doing something right. Garrus gasped, leaning his head back against the headboard of the bed, the ridges of his crest scraping the plexiglass, threatening to leave a mark, but neither of them even seemed to notice. His grip on her hair tightened, and he gave a sharp, hiccupping moan as he opened his avian blue eyes, looking down at her and breathing heavily.

"Shepard," he warned.

Letting her tongue trail one final time up the length of his shaft, Shepard obeyed the unspoken warning, leaning back from his groin and lifting a hand to wipe her mouth. Mordin had warned them about the danger of ingesting, and thus far, even in the heat of passion, the two had done a commendable job of following his instructions, not wanting to test the consequences should they fail to comply. Pulling her way up his scaly and plated body, Shepard pressed her lips to his jagged mouth, kissing him, feeling the sensation of his pointed, bird-like tongue in her mouth, the way his mandibles pressed against her cheeks. The feeling of his mouth against hers was foreign and exciting, and she took the opportunity to run her tongue along the serrated line of his pointed teeth, her body giving a faint shudder at the sensation of danger it filled her with.

Giving a faint, urging push against her waist then, Garrus shifted his weight, rolling Shepard over onto her back and perching himself over her, his bright blue eyes taking in her strong, slender form with a familiar hunger. His rough, clawed hands slid up her thighs, parting them, before allowing each index to skate up the line of her pelvic bone, gliding over her hips before taking a firm, controlling grip on her waist, the pads of his thumbs pressing into her skin as she opened her legs, arching her back ever so faintly, exposing the soft flesh of her throat as she leaned her head back into her pillow, allowing her green eyes to flutter closed as she waited for the moment of penetration, and when it did come, she let out a sharp, animalistic noise of pleasure, halfway between a gasp and a shout.

Reaching back, she gripped her plexiglass headboard, securing herself in place as he heaved against her, inside her, and she moaned with pleasure as his mandibles rubbed up against the skin of her collar-bone, his lithe lips peppering soft, alien kisses across the line of her breast, his sharp teeth scraping the surface of her skin every so often, leaving tiny, faint scratches against her flesh that stung with her salty sweat, but the pain felt good, letting her know that she was alive. Shepard gasped as Garrus pushed inside her again and again, her fingers curling around the headboard of her bed, her physique tensing up before releasing with a licentious shudder. It did not take long for her muscles to start to become sore, but it was a good burn, the sort of pain that let her know that what she was doing was worth it, and she said nothing, instead allowing him to continue in the same way.

His hands gripped her hips, his claws digging into her skin, threatening to pierce the surface, and she gave another light, excited exclamation as he pushed inside her again, her heavy breathing in duet with his, his breath hot against her neck, against her cheek, his grunts of effort and pleasure in her ear causing her heart to race. "Garrus," she gasped, taking her hands from the headboard to slide them around his neck, the tendons of her hands flexed in ecstasy as she laced her fingers between the spines of his crest, her opposite hand gripping the bony rise of his collar as he gave another shuddering heave, causing her toes to curl into the covers of the bed in a fevered passion. His hands left her hips gripping the sheets of the bed, his claws puncturing the soft fabric of the covers as he gave another thrust, this time accompanied by a shout of pleasure from Shepard as she threw back her head, her red hair plastered to her sweaty, freckled face.

"It's a good thing you aren't working for Cerberus anymore," Garrus joked, panting, as he gave another solid thrust inside of her. "Otherwise I might worry that we were being watched right now."

"Shut up and fuck me," Shepard breathed, only half-annoyed by his attempt at coitus humour. He always did this, and while it may have killed the mood the first time, she had grown used to corny attempts at making her laugh in the middle of sex. She could never really tell whether his dumb jokes actually helped or hindered her achievement of orgasm – although she had to admit that there had been no shortage of attempts to figure it out.

Garrus pushed inside her again, seeming only too happy to comply with her rather curt order. It was nothing out of the ordinary for the two to talk to one another this way—it was the way they joked, and as far as he was concerned, he would not have it any other way. He made her laugh, and she did the same, and that was all he ever really wanted out of life, apart from the mind-blowing sex, which seemed to come in the package deal with the wry sense of humour. No matter how amazing the sex was, however, both Garrus and Shepard were only too thankful that the foundations of Shepard's cabin sound-proofed it from the rest of the ship. That meant that no matter how loud and investigational they decided to get during their sessions, none of the other crew members had to know about it, which happily spared them the painfully knowing glances they would have undoubtedly gotten otherwise.

In order to hear their lovemaking, a member of the crew would have to be standing right outside the door of the cabin – which they figured, all things considered, was as good a deterrent as any to any do-gooders trying to deliver messages of war to the Commander when she was in her quarters and therefore clearly off the clock.

The bed rocked and creaked on its foundation, the plexiglass headboard thudding against the muted metal wall of the cabin as it made contact again and again in a frenzied, passioned pattern, and Shepard gave another exclamation of pleasure in time with it, feeling a gentle flourish of bruises begin to prickle across her back as the line of her shoulders beat against the headboard over and over in a passionate, almost hypnotic rhythm. Garrus never hurt her on purpose, not when he could help it – despite the severity of his species, and despite her best efforts to convince him otherwise, Garrus was a surprisingly gentle lover. Though he sometimes left raised white and pink lines on her skin from the use of his claws, he never broke it, and though he had been known to bite her sensually, he had never drawn blood. The extent of the severity of his zeal was bruising, often very faint, and even that took a good deal of passion and a fair amount of convincing from Shepard to accomplish.

She enjoyed getting rough in the bedroom – hair-pulling, biting, scratching, it was all fair game to her, but to Garrus, it felt almost like savagery, a fact which Shepard respected, albeit with a bit of halfheartedly-hidden disappointment.

Garrus grunted, leaning forward on his elbows as he pushed inside of her, rhythmic. Then, letting out a brusque huff of a chuckle, he pressed his nose to the side of her sweaty face, all but burying it in her hair as he spoke into her ear, low and short. "Almost time to stop," he told her. "Payload's…" He gave another grunt, this time bowing his head forward, pressing his face into the pillow beside her as he gave another thrust, this one slower than the last, feeling his body tense and shudder as he sought to hold everything in, but Shepard shook her head, wetting her lips as she did so, tasting the salty sweat as it beaded across her painted lips.

"No," she panted, reaching up a hand to run in back across the rough ridges of his crest, her hand coming to rest on the plated back of his neck as she rocked with him, letting his strong form move her. "Don't stop. Don't stop."

"Shepard," Garrus warned, giving another thrust, this one feeling almost forced.

"No, it's okay," Shepard answered, her breath leaving her in hard, sweaty gasps. "It's okay, I… I want you to do it. I want this."

"Shepard," Garrus warned again, a louder, more worried edge to his voice now as he pressed into her once more. He gripped the covers on either side of her, balling his hands into fists around the soft linen threads, and gave a short, soft grunt as a carnal shudder running up the length of his strong body. "Shepard, I don't think—"

"Do it," Shepard insisted, wrapping her arms around his plated ribcage, her nails digging into the ridges of his spine as she pressed her body against his, leaving a glimmering trail of sweat along the length of his torso. "_Do it_, Garrus."

Garrus opened his mouth, prepared to argue again, to remind her of the repercussions they had been warned about regarding the contact of turian fluids and human internals, but he did not have time before he felt a rush, the throbbing pressure instantly lifting from his strong form as he let loose inside of her, his body giving a great shudder as he let out an exclamation, half of pleasure and half of worry, and at this, Shepard let out a loud, carnal cry, her thighs tensing as her back arched, her hands grasping onto the ridges of his spine as if for dear life, feeling as though an explosion of pleasure had just gone off in her head, filling her body down to her toes with a feeling of animalistic euphoria as she finally hit orgasm.

"YES!" she screamed, her hands sliding up his spine until her arms were wrapped around his strong, reptilian neck, the edges of the plating on the back of his neck pressing against her skin as she pulled him close. Still panting, now worn out, Garrus leaned down to her, pressing a weak line of kisses against her collar-bone, leading up her throat, before laying his head down against her chest. Shepard breathed out, holding his head close to her heart, gently stroking his face, his mandibles, his crest, her fingers exploring the grooves of his scars as she relaxed her body, allowing her toes to uncurl from the covers as she moved her form around his, sliding one of her legs between his, entwining them. Then, leaning down, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, holding him close, savouring the last, lingering dregs of ecstasy.

"God," she breathed.

"Yeah," Garrus answered, his voice similarly quieter, tired out.

"That was… incredible," Shepard panted, pushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes with one free hand before returning it to his face, leaning down to give him another gentle, fond kiss. "Why have we never done that before?"

Garrus hesitated a moment, breathing heavily as he thought this over, before the corners of his serrated mouth suddenly curved upwards into a small, impish smirk. "Sexual activity normal stress release for humans and turians," he answered, mimicking the speech pattern of Mordin Solus. "Still, recommend caution. Warn of chafing—"

"Stop that," Shepard said, wrinkling up her nose as a wry, recognizing grin split her features.

"Turians based on dextro-amino acids," Garrus continued in the same nasal, clipped tone, the puckish grin widening on his jagged features as he nestled his head against her chest, a faint, purring chuckle vibrating against the folds of his throat as he teased her. "Human ingestion of tissue could provoke allergic reactions—"

"Stop ittt," Shepard laughed, playfully attempting to push his face away from her chest. "_Stooppp_."

Garrus chuckled as well, pulling himself back over to her. "Anaphylactic shock possible," he kept going, planting a small, light kiss on her cheek before nestling his head up under her chin. "So try not to _ingest_—"

"Garrus," Shepard said, pushing herself up onto one elbow to look over at him with an expression of annoyed disapproval, though it was obvious from the smile she was trying hard to hide that his antics were tickling her.

"What," Garrus answered, playfully curt in return.

"Stop," she told him flatly.

"Okay," he replied, though the mischievousness in his tone made the statement difficult to believe.

"You're freaking me out," she told him.

"Okay," he answered again.

"I don't want to be sleeping with Mordin Solus," she said.

"Well, hey, I dunno," Garrus teased. "The guy's got some real sex appeal. If you're, y'know, into that. He probably drives the lady salarians wild with that devil-may-care, how's it…" He paused, thinking a moment, before starting up with his impression once more, "Sexual deviants may enjoy salarian flexibility. More cartilage in skeletal structure—"

"Garrus," Shepard said, her tone firm despite the smile she could not keep from her face, taking his head in her hands and pressing her forehead to his so that their eyes were focused only on each other's. "Stop."

"Okay," he said, grinning widely.

"I mean it," Shepard said.

"I got it," Garrus told her.

"You promise?" she asked.

"I promise," he answered. "No more sex ed."

"Good," Shepard said, and let go of his face, allowing him to nuzzle his head up under her chin again, sliding her leg closer to him with one foot. Garrus chuckled, the deep baritone of his two-toned voice soothing as his vocal cords vibrated and buzzed against her skin. Then, reaching one strong, scaled arm around her, he pulled her in towards him, letting her shift until the edge of her shape fit up perfectly against the line of his plates.

"Good," he repeated, finally closing his eyes. "Good."

The first thing Shepard realized when she opened her eyes again was that everything had gone dark.

A faint luminescent glow pulsed from the empty, bubbling fish-tank, but apart from that, no lights were on in her room, not even the dim ambient lights she always kept on, even when she slept. Sitting up in bed, she ran a hand back through her choppy red hair, letting out a sigh as she moved to the edge of the bed, allowing the covers slide from her strong, naked form. She could hear Garrus give a soft groan of protest when she moved, but he merely clutched the discarded covers closer to him, not bothering to wake up. A faint, fond smile touched Shepard's lips at the sight, but she quickly pushed the thought from her head, instead getting to her feet and padding quietly towards her personal telecommunication device.

Leaning forward, Shepard tapped the spacebar a few times with one inquisitive finger, but as she had expected, there was no response. The telecomm seemed to be out of operation as well. Frowning faintly, Shepard straightened, leaning one unimpressed hip against the back of her desk-chair, until the sudden sound of Joker's voice over the intercom system caused her to jump, pressing her hands across her breasts in a knee-jerk reaction in an attempt to hide them from view, even though she knew there was no way for Joker to see her over the intercom.

"Commander?" Joker asked, his voice sounding almost frantic. "EDI just went offline."

Shepard hesitated, taken aback by the abruptness of the problem, before finally managing to collect her nerves enough to respond. "What do you mean, 'offline'?" she asked, letting her hands drop back to her sides. By now Garrus had woken up as well, and sat upright in bed, blinking tiredly, as if still trying to convince himself to wake up entirely. Giving a wide, cat-like yawn, he watched with half-lidded eyes as Shepard started to move around the room, trying to find and gather up her scattered clothing, starting with her bra, which she fumbled with before managing to clip it into place. How the turian managed to get it off with so little difficulty when even she had to try two or three times to work the clasp, she would never know.

"I don't know," Joker answered, his voice clipped, clearly anxious now. "She's not responding and I can't access the AI Core diagnostics. You better get down to Deck Three."

"What's up?" Garrus asked, rubbing his eyes before pushing himself upright in bed, leaning back against the scratched and battered headboard. "Is it something important? Should I come, too?"

Pulling on her panties, Shepard made a face as she realized she had forgotten to wash between her legs, but then, realizing that there was no time to waste, she shook her head, continuing to throw on her clothes with a sense of almost desperate abandon. "No," she told him, pulling on her pants and hopping once before finally managing to get both legs through. "Just… stay here. I can handle this. It's just a bit of… electrical malfunction, nothing to…" Zipping and buttoning her pants, she bent then, quickly grabbing up her shirt and pulling it over her head, making her short red hair explode in a frazzled sunburst, which she quickly tamed by running her hands over it, the motion almost subconscious. "Plus, I don't want people to see us coming out of my cabin at the same time," she added, sitting down on the bed again as she started to pull on her socks, distracted. "I don't want them getting… ideas…"

"Like what?" Garrus asked, now fully awake, trying not to sound offended but ultimately failing. "Like that we're sleeping together? People already know we're a couple, Shepard, it's not like it's some huge deal for them to see us together."

"I know," Shepard told him, pulling on one of her boots and quickly lacing it up before starting on the other. "It's just, there's a difference between people _knowing_ we're sleeping together and us… flaunting it, you know?" Finished with her boots, Shepard got to her feet again, grabbing her jacket up off the floor of the cabin and pulling it on around her shoulders. "I mean, just because I enjoy building model ships doesn't mean I walk around with one around my neck, you see what I'm saying?" she asked, zipping up the front of the jacket. "You can do something and enjoy doing it without having to rub it in other peoples' faces."

"I didn't realize you felt the same way about us as you did about model ships," Garrus answered, deadpan.

"Can we talk about this later?" Shepard asked, making a face as she turned to face him, now fully dressed. "I've got an AI problem to take care of right now, but this is clearly something you feel we need to talk about in more detail."

"Well, yeah," Garrus scoffed, seeming almost disgustedly surprised at her dismissive tone. "I mean, I know you're busy with the Reaper War and everything, but I—"

"Great," Shepard said, cutting him off. "We'll talk about this later, then." And with that, she turned, hardly even noticing the expression of shock on her turian companion's face as she made her way to the door of the cabin and let herself out.

Because the electrical systems were down on the ship, that meant the elevator was out of order as well, which meant that the only way to get from floor to floor was to take the stairs. Shepard's mother had always preached to her about not taking old technology for granted, because, as Hannah put it, everything that had successfully survived this far into the progression of man had to have a use, no matter how unnecessary it might seem, at first, to the casual onlooker. The stairs of the Normandy had never been Shepard's favourite way to get around the ship – they were cramped and far too close together, built for the convenience of other species more than for that of humans – but now that she actually needed them, she supposed it was a good thing Cerberus had decided to install them into the updated model, nonetheless.

Finally reaching the third floor of the ship, Shepard quickly made her way to the doors of the AI Core, slowing her pace as she drew closer, taking caution not to startle the two crewmembers who already stood guard there, each one holding what appeared to be a fire extinguisher. "What's going on here?" Shepard asked, turning to the first crewman and stifling a yawn.

"Automated systems have the fires contained," the crewman answered, shifting the weight of the manual fire extinguisher between his hands. "It should be safe to enter."

"We'll follow your lead," the second crewman added.

Shepard turned, glancing back at the second crewman, and noted for the first time that both crewmembers were wearing strap-on breathing masks. It was a smart precaution, but not one she had the time to go looking for. Suddenly, a heavy thumping noise reached her ears, accompanied by the rushing sound of some sort of high-pressure gas being released, and all three standing outside the AI Core took a surprised step back. Frowning worriedly, Shepard reached up a hand to her in-ear comm device, pressing two fingers to the microphone button as she took another step away from the heavy, automated door.

"Joker, what's that sound?" she asked, her green eyes trailing up and down the length of the door, as if expecting noxious gas to leak through the cracks at any moment.

"Fire extinguishers, Commander," Joker answered curtly. "Could be an electrical fire, or… something."

Giving a comprehending nod, Shepard dropped her hand from her ear, turning back to the heavy door of the AI core, and indicated the crewmen towards the electronic lock. At her signal, one of the crewmen stepped forward, passing his omni-tool over the red hologram lock-panel, and instantly unlocked it, causing it to flicker green. Shepard glanced between both crewman, noting the worried looks on their faces, before moving forward again, a reassured assertiveness in her step. "I'm going in," she announced. Then, taking another step forward, she allowed the automatic weight-sensitive module to kick in, opening the door of the AI Core, before she started into the room, her head held high, unafraid.

She was quickly stopped short, however, by a hazy wave of smoke bursting forth from the AI Core, washing over her and her two flanking crewmen in a cascade of blinding fog, and she had to shield her eyes to keep from being blinded by the sudden onslaught. Darting quickly past her into the AI Core, the first crewman sprayed a thick mist of anti-flammatory matter into the air, dismissing the worst of the smoke from their immediate vicinity, before turning back to Shepard and nodding to her, indicating that it was all clear for her to come inside. Moving in past the crewman again, Shepard covered her mouth and nose, keeping herself from inhaling smoke, and used her other hand to wave the thick haze away from her eyes, which were beginning to water.

"EDI?" she called, trying her best to stifle a dry cough. "Talk to me!" Looking around, she could barely make out the outline of the AI Core's consoles through the thick grey smoke that filled the room, but she took another step forward anyway, passing her hand in front of her face again in an attempt to clear her vision. "EDI?" she called again, and this time she was answered by a deep, humming noise which caused her to jump, only to realize that the sound was the hardware booting noisily back up.

Turning, Shepard watched as the bright blue lights that lined the metallic faces of the hub consoles began to flicker back on, one by one. Then, looking back into the heart of the AI Core again, she found that she could just barely make out what looked to be a glowing orange strip of light making its way through the smoke towards her and her crewmates, accompanied by the steady, curt _click, click, click_ of what sounded like stiletto heels. At the sound, the two crewmen took a cautionary step back, but Shepard merely peered into the steadily dissipating smoke that still lingered in the AI Core, passing her hand in front of her face once more in an attempt to clear her vision.

"EDI?" she asked again, squinting into the room to try to get a better view of whatever it was that was approaching her and her crewmates through the smoke. She did not have to wait long, however, before a figure stepped forth from the mist, the last of the lingering smoke rolling in tendrils off of her sleek, silver robotic body. She held her proud, angled head high, her painted eyes framed by what looked to be a glowing orange strip, a monitor or visor of some sort, and though her hands dangled awkwardly at her sides, as if she had not yet found an appropriate use for them yet, she still seemed to have already developed a sort of catwalk-eque grace in her mannerisms as she came to stand before Shepard and her two crewmates, balanced effortlessly on the tapered heels of her built-in stilettos.

"Is there a particular topic you wish to discuss, Shepard?" EDI's smooth voice questioned, seeming completely unfazed by the supposed electrical fire in the AI Core, or her short instance of dysfunctionality.

Instantly, one of the two crewmen who had entered the AI Core moved forward, his posture almost crouched as he pointed his Carnifex at the stranger, ready to take her out at a word from his Commander. Shepard opened her mouth, prepared to say something in response to the AI's oblivious question, but found that no words would come out, and so quickly closed her mouth again instead. She had gotten so used to hearing the cool female voice of the AI coming from the overhead speaker system, from seemingly everywhere and nowhere at the same time, that to hear it now coming from this compact being, to be able to put a face to the voice she had gotten so accustomed to, was almost startling, and for a moment she had to pause to collect her senses.

"EDI," she finally said, surprised, unsure of what else there really was to say in the current situation.

"Yes?" asked EDI coolly. She appeared distracted now, lifting her hands and turning them over to inspect them, as if she was not quite used to them yet, and Shepard could not help but feel a knot beginning to form in her stomach as she watched the formerly bodiless AI casually exploring her newfound shape, though she was unsure whether her discomfort was being caused by the AI's oddly human characteristics or the fact that the body she had chosen to inhabit had been the same one that had very nearly taken the life of one of Shepard's oldest and dearest friends.

"You're in… Doctor Eva Coré's body," Shepard said, taking a few cautious steps forward towards the former AI and giving the robo-body a quick once-over.

"Not all of me," EDI answered simply, seeming satisfied with her inspection, and quickly shifted into a defensive stance, pulling her body into a rigid, straight-backed posture and crossing her arms loosely over her sleek chest, all but cradling her ample bust in the crooks of her arms. She almost seemed to be protecting her new prize from the Commander, as if she were afraid Shepard might try to take it away from her now that she had been discovered. "But I have control of it. It was… not a seamless transition."

Shepard frowned, irked by the curt self-righteousness of EDI's replies and her apparent unwillingness to openly answer questions. She seemed to be playing a strategy of minimal ripostes, giving only as much information as she needed to give to get by without revealing anything too important, and while the Commander understood that even AIs needed to be versed in the science of self-preservation, the fact that EDI could be so self-serving, especially when things were so uncertain not only aboard the Normandy, but everywhere else in the galaxy as well, made her angry. "A transition?" she demanded, allowing herself a bit of ire now that she knew that neither the Normandy nor its crew were in any immediate danger. "You blacked out on us for a while, there."

"Correct," EDI answered, detached as ever. "When we brought this unit on-board, I began a background process to search for its information on the Prothean device. This eventually triggered a trap – a backup power source and CPU activated, and the unit attempted physical confrontation." The AI turned her head, watching the second crewman as he worked, the axis of her neck twisting almost all the way around to the back as the stacked discs shifted in a circular motion, much like cogs, before she smoothly turned her attention back to Shepard, her cold silver eyes fixed on the Commander, unblinking. "Fortunately, I was able to gain root access and repurpose it as I saw fit," she added matter-of-factly. "During this process, it… struggled. Thus, the fire."

"EDI, you need to alert us about incidents like this," Shepard scolded, annoyed at the AI's cool, dismissive attitude towards the whole ordeal. "You shouldn't have done this alone."

"Bringing the crew up to speed would have been counterproductive," EDI replied, giving a cheeky little shift of her new hips and shoulders as she did so, and though Shepard was sure was just a side-effect of her getting accustomed to her new body, it nevertheless only served to irritate her even more than before. "All attempts to help would have been limited by reaction time."

Out of the corner of her eye, Shepard sensed movement, and, turning her head, she realized that one of the two crewmen who had entered the room with her had edged quietly forward, and was now taking a moment to curiously inspect the ship AI's new body. Throwing him a censorious look, Shepard watched as he quickly turned, his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, and returned to his work of clearing the room of smoke. The other crewman still had not looked up from his own duties of accessing the ship's systems from a console in the corner of the AI core, working as fast as he could to turn off the ship's fire extinguishers. Then, turning back to EDI, Shepard pointed a curious finger at her, slitting her green eyes faintly at the still-unfamiliar femmebot casing.

"So if you're in there," Shepard said, her voice hesitant, "are you… still in the ship?"

"I exist primarily within the ship," EDI responded, her manner still totally matter-of-fact as she shifted back and forth on her new, shapely feet, barely even seeming to notice the curious and intrigued stares she was earning from the two crewmen standing behind Shepard. "For optimal control, this unit should remain within Normandy's broadcast or tight-beam range."

Shepard paused, taken aback, a faint line of a frown creasing her freckled brow as she stared EDI down. "Are you planning to take that body somewhere?" she asked, barely trying to hide the note of scepticism in her tone. Letting the headstrong AI have a tangible body, especially under such unusual and risky circumstances, was one thing, but giving her free reign to use said body to wander wherever she pleased outside the confines of the ship she was designed to help run – that was another thing entirely.

"Normandy's weaponry is not suited to every combat situation," EDI answered frankly, indicating with one hand towards the power grids lining the walls of the AI Core. "This platform could provide limited-fire ground support."

At this, Shepard looked up again, noting the clear strain of enticement with which EDI spoke of her newfound ability to help outside the confines of the Normandy, and had to keep herself from cracking an incredulous smile. She had to give it to the AI – if there was one thing she certainly did not lack for, it was confidence. "You mean, you could come with us?" the Commander asked, the waver of shock still not having faded from her stunned tone.

"Correct," EDI replied, curt and professional. "This body could accompany you to areas the Normandy could not reach."

Shepard sighed, shaking her head as she crossed her arms across her chest, shifting her weight onto her back foot and giving EDI one last once-over before fixing her with a hard, levelling stare. "Before we do that, I need you to guarantee this mech doesn't have _any_ more surprises in it," she told the AI. "Run whatever tests you can – then we can talk about using it in combat situations."

"One moment," EDI replied smoothly. "I am running trials." Going silent, the blank-eyed femmebot straightened her posture, allowing her hands to hang, straight-fingered, at her sides, as her head moved slowly from right to left. Then, looking back at Shepard again, she lifted her chin, seeming satisfied with herself. "Complete," she reported, cool and collected as ever. "I can send you a full report, if you wish. However, my first step should be restoring functionality to the Normandy, to reassure the crew that all is normal."

"Just… don't be surprised if the crew is a little wary of your… new body," Shepard told her, trying her hardest to sound concerned for the AI, but empathy had never been her strong suit, and, despite her best efforts, the words sounded awkward and forced. "It _was_ shooting at them a little while ago."

"An excellent point," EDI conceded, seeming less than put off by Shepard's candour. Then, hardly missing a beat, she added with what Shepard could only guess was her own, unusual brand of enthusiasm, "I will take it to the bridge. Joker will also want to see it."

"On that, we can agree," Shepard murmured, watching as the newly-able-bodied robot made her way, almost gleefully, towards the doors of the medibay, before finally disappearing around the corner of the elevator column, heading up towards the cockpit to show off her new body to the unsuspecting pilot. Shepard gave a thin smile, silently praying that the shock of EDI's new body would not cause their pilot to crash the ship and kill them all. That would be an unfortunate end to what had started out as such a nice day.

And it would be a pity to die before breakfast.


End file.
